![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pensnestWith thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ephemera_pop for the beta. This episode is set several months after 'First Blood'. (To read the Chronicles from the beginning, start here.) No prizes for spotting the musical references...
"Knights can get married, you know."
Lancyn chewed his mouthful of apple, thankful for the opportunity to absorb this remark before he had to respond. On the other side of the table, Chrisfer continued to inspect his throwing knives, and got out his sharpening stone.
Reluctantly, Lancyn swallowed the last of the apple, and said, "Mmm?" conveying, he hoped, mild interest and a willingness to hear more, if more there was.
"Yes. Quite a few of the Elite here at the Tower have wives, you know."
"Oh." As Lancyn had never before considered the matter, he wasn't even sure whether this came as a surprise or not.
"And some of the knights on the road are married." Chrisfer paused to peer along the gleaming blade. "It must be nice to have a home to go to and a warm welcome. In between quests."
"Um. Mmm."
"Sometimes knights marry dians, and they quest together. But most dians don't marry knights and most knights don't marry dians. It's just, you know. I'm just saying. So that you know. Not that you'd want to marry someone right now, but if you were to meet someone, it wouldn't be a problem when you're full Elite."
"I'll, uh, bear it in mind," said Lancyn, still somewhat baffled. He really didn't see why Chris should feel it necessary to inform him that he might marry someone once he was a knight. That day was a long way off. Lancyn knew he had made good progress, but he was far from ready to take the full Oath.
Unless...
"Are you getting married, then?" he blurted.
"Me? Stars, no!"
"Oh." Lancyn was relieved. Just Chris being his usual erratic self, then.
"It's just that—you remember there was a letter waiting for me, when we got here?" Lancyn did remember. It was a rare thing, a letter. Elite communications were different, they were reflected around the network of Towers so that every quest was known to every Towermaster, and it was possible to keep track of where the knights—and dians, he supposed—were working. But a letter, a real letter, which had been directed here to Vallacarfel and arrived before they did, that was unusual.
"Of course." Lancyn responded politely. "From your mother, you said. I hope she is well, and all your sisters, too."
"Yes. They are. Very well. Yes. Katya's getting married."
"To Brig?" Lancyn remembered the tall, quiet young man who had followed Katya about the house, last Midwinter.
"Yes. And she wants us to be there."
"Us? I mean, obviously she'd want you, but why me?"
"Why not you?" Chrisfer stared at his squire. He was hiding something behind those bright brown eyes, Lancyn could tell that much, but he knew there was no chance he'd get Chris to reveal what it was. But it probably wasn't important, in the grand scheme of things. Most probably Katya hadn't mentioned Lancyn at all, and Chrisfer thought it would hurt his feelings, which was foolish of him and also rather sweet.
"So, we'll be heading north again," Chrisfer continued. "The wedding is a month before midwinter, so it won't be as cold as our last visit."
"Wait, but, didn't you take a quest, only yesterday? Will we have time?" It was a long way north from here. And a pity, too, to be headed that way as winter was coming on. Snow was all very well, but Lancyn preferred his winters mild. But, obviously, for Chris's sister's wedding, the journey must be made.
"Oh, we'll get there." Chrisfer looked oddly morose at the prospect. Usually he relished being on the road. "It shouldn't take long to catch a pickpocket or two, and flush out whoever's in charge."
"You think there's an organisation, then."
"From the look of things, it's a flourishing business, stealing, in the glorious city of Vallacarfel. The city magister there is always understaffed, though, that's why he calls in Elite help so often. People don't want to join the local orderkeepers when they can head downriver and go to sea, with the chance of making their fortunes honestly. It tends to mean the ones who stick with law enforcement are likely to take bribes from the malefactors."
"Bit of a problem, that," said Lancyn, cheerfully. "So, tomorrow, we catch a pickpocket?"
* * *
Lancyn did not think it could be difficult to attract the attention of a pickpocket. Just stand around and look wealthy. Catching the pickpocket, though, might be a different matter. Presumably the successful pickpockets—and this town seemed to be infested with peculiarly successful ones—were difficult to detect. They were supposed to be 'lightfingered', after all. He thought he had hit upon a solution to the problem.
Lancyn had a mousetrap in his money-pouch.
And here he was, standing on the outskirts of the thronging marketplace, blinking like a country boy, and alert—he hoped—to every passing touch.
There was a snap, and a shriek, and Lancyn's hand closed firmly around the skinny wrist recoiling from his money-pouch.
* * *
"Looks like they make 'em young in Vallacarfel," Chris said, staring at the kid. "Been in the business long?"
The kid glowered at them through a veil of very dirty hair, and refused to speak. He was a grubby little brat with terrified brown eyes and thin, pointed features disfigured by a bruise that swelled purple across the left side of his face. The sight of that bruise, when he swung round to get a good look at his captured thief, had frozen Lancyn's glee and gentled his grasp.
And Chrisfer had taken one look and turned tautly white, his eyes burning with rage; but his voice was mild and playful now as he tried to get the boy to speak. It was no easy task, and they kept at it for half an hour before Chrisfer shrugged and—apparently—gave up.
"You hungry, Lans?" the knight said casually. "Fetch us up something from the kitchens. I'd rather eat here than in the hall." Chrisfer's room held a neat wooden table and four stacked stools, and Lancyn had spent enough time in Towers now to know that while the Elite in residence were expected to assemble for a formal evening meal, the midday repast was a casual affair that might be eaten anywhere.
He went obediently down to the kitchens, taking his time. Chrisfer would have better luck with the kid alone. He loved children. Lancyn had seen him abandon any pretense at dignity to play like a child himself, with Talia, and with Joel's twin boys, as well as any number of chance-met youngsters on their travels. It was a gift, one Lancyn himself lacked: he could play, and enjoy it, but for him it took conscious effort to set aside his adult self, whereas for Chrisfer, it came naturally.
He returned to the room bearing his laden tray: a platter laden with sliced meat, three pots of assorted relishes, a loaf hot from the oven, butter, a jug of juice and several apples (Lancyn was extremely partial to apples), and three sugar fancies begged from the indulgent housekeeper, who had patted his arm and told him not to make eyes at her, it would do him no good, before picking out the three largest candies from her supply.
The boy still looked wary, but Chrisfer greeted Lancyn's return cheerfully with the announcement that the kid's name was Erryn.
Erryn stared at the pile of food as Lancyn set it down, but made no move towards the table, and when Chrisfer gestured to him to sit, the astonishment in his bruised face was heartbreaking. Timidly, the boy took a single slice of meat, and gaped as Chrisfer piled another four onto his plate and Lancyn set a steaming, fragrant slice of bread beside them, and offered him the butter. Then he ate, cramming in the food so fast he appeared likely to choke, until Chrisfer murmured something and he slowed down enough to chew.
The boy startled both of them with his polite 'Thank you' as he finished his meal.
* * *
"It's all right, you know. We never hang people on Thursdays."
Lancyn rolled his eyes theatrically. "Don't mind him, Erryn. He's a bit touched, but he's all right."
"I get no respect," grumbled Chrisfer. "You see how it is?"
A smile flickered briefly across the boy's face. "What do you do with, um, people, then, on Thursdays?" he asked, tentatively.
"Well," Chrisfer leant on his elbows, considering. "We feed them, which we've done. That bit's easy. Then comes the torture part. We wash them."
Erryn looked for a moment as though he might laugh. "Are you going to ask me any more questions?"
Chrisfer sniffed, and wiped his sleeve carelessly across his face. Lancyn, amused, admired his technique and kept quiet. "Depends. You going to answer?"
The boy looked old, suddenly. "What happens after?"
"After you answer the questions? No escape, kid, you still get a bath. I'd wait, if I were you. That way you can say we tortured you into it. More dignified."
Erryn's shy smile lit his face like sunshine. "I mean, after the, um, bath."
"Dinner's an hour after sunset. Then, I suppose, we get a pallet and a few blankets in for you."
"We aren't going to throw you out into the street," Lancyn added quietly.
"Yes, but," the boy bit his lip. "What happens to me, after?"
Chrisfer was suddenly serious. "Exactly what happens depends what you tell us. But we aren't going to hurt you, you have my word on that. If you can help us, if you can tell us what we need to know, I promise you won't suffer for it."
"But if they see me, if they find me... I wasn't supposed to get caught. They said, if I get caught, I wasn't to tell anything. And if you let me go..."
"How about if we take you away from Vallacarfel? Would you like that?"
"We can take you back home," Lancyn suggested. "Do you have family, outside the city?"
"No! I mean, no, don't take me back there."
"All right," Chrisfer said gently, "if that's what you want. But are you sure? Do your parents know you're safe?"
"My father's dead."
"But your mother, she'll be worried about you. We can send a message, tell her—"
"No! No. Don't tell her. She's the reason—she's the one who sold me."
The sugar fancy in Chrisfer's hand shattered noisily. After a moment, everyone laughed. Chrisfer went into the bath chamber to wash his sticky fingers (and, Lancyn thought from the muffled noises he could hear through the wooden door, to vent curses into a towel). Lancyn busied himself tidying the candied shards, and the boy shrank against the wall and hugged himself.
* * *
Erryn's story came out in painful pieces. His mother had sold her son to a man named Loupe in payment of some kind of debt. Erryn was vague on the details, but it seemed to have something to do with one of the boy's sisters. There were several siblings, an elder brother, who had run away from home long ago, and two, or possibly more, sisters, one of whom had been married off in exchange for a settlement of some kind, and at least one of whom was clearly working as a prostitute.
Loupe had brought Erryn to Vallacarfel and settled him among a sizeable gang of children who worked the streets, thieving from the townfolk and the many travellers who passed through the city on their way to the sea. Erryn had not been in Vallacarfel very long, and today was his second foray into the marketplace. He'd been punished for not bringing anything back at his first attempt. Hence the bruised face.
It came as no surprise to Lancyn that by the time Erryn finished his story, he was closely wrapped in Chrisfer's arms, with tears trickling bright lines down his dirty cheeks.
* * *
Over the next few days, Erryn—who had emerged from his bath a blond angel—told them as many details as he could be coaxed to remember about Loupe's operation: how many children there were, how many adults were involved, what was the routine... He was a bright kid, quick to grasp what they needed from him, and eager to please. He was also, though he was doing a fair job of hiding it, absolutely terrified that Loupe would find him.
It was a reasonable fear. Loupe... Lancyn very much wanted to rid the earth of Loupe. Of course, he'd have to trample Ser Chrisfer's dead body to get to Loupe first. There was nothing that angered Chris more than abuse of the innocent.
Chrisfer had taken a strong fancy to Erryn. So strong, that Lancyn might have been jealous, had he not been certain of his own place at Chris's side. It had occurred to him, though, that he would not be able to remain with Chris for ever. One day, perhaps three, four years from now, he would have to take the Oath and go on quest alone. It would be a wrench.
Possibly, though, it wouldn't be so bad if Chris had someone ready to take Lancyn's place as his squire. Somebody with three, four years of Tower training, somebody Chris already held in affection.
Quietly, at times when Chrisfer was perforce absent, Lancyn started teaching Erryn to read.
* * *
More tomorrow.
ephemera_pop for the beta. This episode is set several months after 'First Blood'. (To read the Chronicles from the beginning, start here.) No prizes for spotting the musical references..."Knights can get married, you know."
Lancyn chewed his mouthful of apple, thankful for the opportunity to absorb this remark before he had to respond. On the other side of the table, Chrisfer continued to inspect his throwing knives, and got out his sharpening stone.
Reluctantly, Lancyn swallowed the last of the apple, and said, "Mmm?" conveying, he hoped, mild interest and a willingness to hear more, if more there was.
"Yes. Quite a few of the Elite here at the Tower have wives, you know."
"Oh." As Lancyn had never before considered the matter, he wasn't even sure whether this came as a surprise or not.
"And some of the knights on the road are married." Chrisfer paused to peer along the gleaming blade. "It must be nice to have a home to go to and a warm welcome. In between quests."
"Um. Mmm."
"Sometimes knights marry dians, and they quest together. But most dians don't marry knights and most knights don't marry dians. It's just, you know. I'm just saying. So that you know. Not that you'd want to marry someone right now, but if you were to meet someone, it wouldn't be a problem when you're full Elite."
"I'll, uh, bear it in mind," said Lancyn, still somewhat baffled. He really didn't see why Chris should feel it necessary to inform him that he might marry someone once he was a knight. That day was a long way off. Lancyn knew he had made good progress, but he was far from ready to take the full Oath.
Unless...
"Are you getting married, then?" he blurted.
"Me? Stars, no!"
"Oh." Lancyn was relieved. Just Chris being his usual erratic self, then.
"It's just that—you remember there was a letter waiting for me, when we got here?" Lancyn did remember. It was a rare thing, a letter. Elite communications were different, they were reflected around the network of Towers so that every quest was known to every Towermaster, and it was possible to keep track of where the knights—and dians, he supposed—were working. But a letter, a real letter, which had been directed here to Vallacarfel and arrived before they did, that was unusual.
"Of course." Lancyn responded politely. "From your mother, you said. I hope she is well, and all your sisters, too."
"Yes. They are. Very well. Yes. Katya's getting married."
"To Brig?" Lancyn remembered the tall, quiet young man who had followed Katya about the house, last Midwinter.
"Yes. And she wants us to be there."
"Us? I mean, obviously she'd want you, but why me?"
"Why not you?" Chrisfer stared at his squire. He was hiding something behind those bright brown eyes, Lancyn could tell that much, but he knew there was no chance he'd get Chris to reveal what it was. But it probably wasn't important, in the grand scheme of things. Most probably Katya hadn't mentioned Lancyn at all, and Chrisfer thought it would hurt his feelings, which was foolish of him and also rather sweet.
"So, we'll be heading north again," Chrisfer continued. "The wedding is a month before midwinter, so it won't be as cold as our last visit."
"Wait, but, didn't you take a quest, only yesterday? Will we have time?" It was a long way north from here. And a pity, too, to be headed that way as winter was coming on. Snow was all very well, but Lancyn preferred his winters mild. But, obviously, for Chris's sister's wedding, the journey must be made.
"Oh, we'll get there." Chrisfer looked oddly morose at the prospect. Usually he relished being on the road. "It shouldn't take long to catch a pickpocket or two, and flush out whoever's in charge."
"You think there's an organisation, then."
"From the look of things, it's a flourishing business, stealing, in the glorious city of Vallacarfel. The city magister there is always understaffed, though, that's why he calls in Elite help so often. People don't want to join the local orderkeepers when they can head downriver and go to sea, with the chance of making their fortunes honestly. It tends to mean the ones who stick with law enforcement are likely to take bribes from the malefactors."
"Bit of a problem, that," said Lancyn, cheerfully. "So, tomorrow, we catch a pickpocket?"
* * *
Lancyn did not think it could be difficult to attract the attention of a pickpocket. Just stand around and look wealthy. Catching the pickpocket, though, might be a different matter. Presumably the successful pickpockets—and this town seemed to be infested with peculiarly successful ones—were difficult to detect. They were supposed to be 'lightfingered', after all. He thought he had hit upon a solution to the problem.
Lancyn had a mousetrap in his money-pouch.
And here he was, standing on the outskirts of the thronging marketplace, blinking like a country boy, and alert—he hoped—to every passing touch.
There was a snap, and a shriek, and Lancyn's hand closed firmly around the skinny wrist recoiling from his money-pouch.
* * *
"Looks like they make 'em young in Vallacarfel," Chris said, staring at the kid. "Been in the business long?"
The kid glowered at them through a veil of very dirty hair, and refused to speak. He was a grubby little brat with terrified brown eyes and thin, pointed features disfigured by a bruise that swelled purple across the left side of his face. The sight of that bruise, when he swung round to get a good look at his captured thief, had frozen Lancyn's glee and gentled his grasp.
And Chrisfer had taken one look and turned tautly white, his eyes burning with rage; but his voice was mild and playful now as he tried to get the boy to speak. It was no easy task, and they kept at it for half an hour before Chrisfer shrugged and—apparently—gave up.
"You hungry, Lans?" the knight said casually. "Fetch us up something from the kitchens. I'd rather eat here than in the hall." Chrisfer's room held a neat wooden table and four stacked stools, and Lancyn had spent enough time in Towers now to know that while the Elite in residence were expected to assemble for a formal evening meal, the midday repast was a casual affair that might be eaten anywhere.
He went obediently down to the kitchens, taking his time. Chrisfer would have better luck with the kid alone. He loved children. Lancyn had seen him abandon any pretense at dignity to play like a child himself, with Talia, and with Joel's twin boys, as well as any number of chance-met youngsters on their travels. It was a gift, one Lancyn himself lacked: he could play, and enjoy it, but for him it took conscious effort to set aside his adult self, whereas for Chrisfer, it came naturally.
He returned to the room bearing his laden tray: a platter laden with sliced meat, three pots of assorted relishes, a loaf hot from the oven, butter, a jug of juice and several apples (Lancyn was extremely partial to apples), and three sugar fancies begged from the indulgent housekeeper, who had patted his arm and told him not to make eyes at her, it would do him no good, before picking out the three largest candies from her supply.
The boy still looked wary, but Chrisfer greeted Lancyn's return cheerfully with the announcement that the kid's name was Erryn.
Erryn stared at the pile of food as Lancyn set it down, but made no move towards the table, and when Chrisfer gestured to him to sit, the astonishment in his bruised face was heartbreaking. Timidly, the boy took a single slice of meat, and gaped as Chrisfer piled another four onto his plate and Lancyn set a steaming, fragrant slice of bread beside them, and offered him the butter. Then he ate, cramming in the food so fast he appeared likely to choke, until Chrisfer murmured something and he slowed down enough to chew.
The boy startled both of them with his polite 'Thank you' as he finished his meal.
* * *
"It's all right, you know. We never hang people on Thursdays."
Lancyn rolled his eyes theatrically. "Don't mind him, Erryn. He's a bit touched, but he's all right."
"I get no respect," grumbled Chrisfer. "You see how it is?"
A smile flickered briefly across the boy's face. "What do you do with, um, people, then, on Thursdays?" he asked, tentatively.
"Well," Chrisfer leant on his elbows, considering. "We feed them, which we've done. That bit's easy. Then comes the torture part. We wash them."
Erryn looked for a moment as though he might laugh. "Are you going to ask me any more questions?"
Chrisfer sniffed, and wiped his sleeve carelessly across his face. Lancyn, amused, admired his technique and kept quiet. "Depends. You going to answer?"
The boy looked old, suddenly. "What happens after?"
"After you answer the questions? No escape, kid, you still get a bath. I'd wait, if I were you. That way you can say we tortured you into it. More dignified."
Erryn's shy smile lit his face like sunshine. "I mean, after the, um, bath."
"Dinner's an hour after sunset. Then, I suppose, we get a pallet and a few blankets in for you."
"We aren't going to throw you out into the street," Lancyn added quietly.
"Yes, but," the boy bit his lip. "What happens to me, after?"
Chrisfer was suddenly serious. "Exactly what happens depends what you tell us. But we aren't going to hurt you, you have my word on that. If you can help us, if you can tell us what we need to know, I promise you won't suffer for it."
"But if they see me, if they find me... I wasn't supposed to get caught. They said, if I get caught, I wasn't to tell anything. And if you let me go..."
"How about if we take you away from Vallacarfel? Would you like that?"
"We can take you back home," Lancyn suggested. "Do you have family, outside the city?"
"No! I mean, no, don't take me back there."
"All right," Chrisfer said gently, "if that's what you want. But are you sure? Do your parents know you're safe?"
"My father's dead."
"But your mother, she'll be worried about you. We can send a message, tell her—"
"No! No. Don't tell her. She's the reason—she's the one who sold me."
The sugar fancy in Chrisfer's hand shattered noisily. After a moment, everyone laughed. Chrisfer went into the bath chamber to wash his sticky fingers (and, Lancyn thought from the muffled noises he could hear through the wooden door, to vent curses into a towel). Lancyn busied himself tidying the candied shards, and the boy shrank against the wall and hugged himself.
* * *
Erryn's story came out in painful pieces. His mother had sold her son to a man named Loupe in payment of some kind of debt. Erryn was vague on the details, but it seemed to have something to do with one of the boy's sisters. There were several siblings, an elder brother, who had run away from home long ago, and two, or possibly more, sisters, one of whom had been married off in exchange for a settlement of some kind, and at least one of whom was clearly working as a prostitute.
Loupe had brought Erryn to Vallacarfel and settled him among a sizeable gang of children who worked the streets, thieving from the townfolk and the many travellers who passed through the city on their way to the sea. Erryn had not been in Vallacarfel very long, and today was his second foray into the marketplace. He'd been punished for not bringing anything back at his first attempt. Hence the bruised face.
It came as no surprise to Lancyn that by the time Erryn finished his story, he was closely wrapped in Chrisfer's arms, with tears trickling bright lines down his dirty cheeks.
* * *
Over the next few days, Erryn—who had emerged from his bath a blond angel—told them as many details as he could be coaxed to remember about Loupe's operation: how many children there were, how many adults were involved, what was the routine... He was a bright kid, quick to grasp what they needed from him, and eager to please. He was also, though he was doing a fair job of hiding it, absolutely terrified that Loupe would find him.
It was a reasonable fear. Loupe... Lancyn very much wanted to rid the earth of Loupe. Of course, he'd have to trample Ser Chrisfer's dead body to get to Loupe first. There was nothing that angered Chris more than abuse of the innocent.
Chrisfer had taken a strong fancy to Erryn. So strong, that Lancyn might have been jealous, had he not been certain of his own place at Chris's side. It had occurred to him, though, that he would not be able to remain with Chris for ever. One day, perhaps three, four years from now, he would have to take the Oath and go on quest alone. It would be a wrench.
Possibly, though, it wouldn't be so bad if Chris had someone ready to take Lancyn's place as his squire. Somebody with three, four years of Tower training, somebody Chris already held in affection.
Quietly, at times when Chrisfer was perforce absent, Lancyn started teaching Erryn to read.
* * *
More tomorrow.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 01:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 01:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 03:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-27 06:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 09:22 am (UTC)When someone needs you, you love them so
'Tain't a great title, but it'll do.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 08:06 pm (UTC)Lou-pe hehe, nice touch.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-23 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 09:22 am (UTC)BTW, someone has answered our JC/Wade request on
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 05:03 am (UTC)It's so fun to see this setting evolve, and the introduction of Erryn is wonderfully amusing. At first, I was like: brown eyes... ..maybe? And as each detail was revealed, my grin just widened...
Here's hoping Loupe and Jaine (sp? *giggle*) come to the ends they deserve! *g*
no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 09:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-27 05:59 pm (UTC)I've missed them so much!
And now I must find the next part to find out what Chrisfer is up to.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-27 06:16 pm (UTC)